The Wake-Up Call
So there I was sweating buckets at 6AM, staring at this dude deadlifting twice my bodyweight like it was nothing. This beast – let’s call him Dave ’cause that’s his name – been crushing our local powerlifting comps for five years straight. My gym buddy elbows me: “If you wanna be the king, gotta dethrone the king.” I grunted something about hating mornings and shuffled to the treadmill.
Playing Catch-Up
First week was pure humiliation. Dave’s warmup weight was my max squat. I tried copying his routine Tuesday – barely finished half his sets before puking in the trash can. Coach saw me gasping and dropped truth bombs:
- Stop comparing Day 1 to his Year 5
- Track every rep like a mad scientist
- Rest days ain’t optional – they’re weapons
Started bringing a damn notebook to the gym. Wrote down every lift, every meal, even how many hours I slept. Found out I was eating less protein than my grandma.
The Grind
Three months in, still couldn’t touch Dave’s numbers. But weird stuff started happening – my jeans needed belts, gym regulars stopped laughing at my form. That Monday I finally hit two plates on bench press? Dave nodded at me. Just a chin lift. Felt like winning the damn lottery.
Summer came and my journal looked crazy:
- 4:45AM alarms even on Saturdays
- Meal prepping tupperware towers
- Dreaming about protein shakes
Missed my cousin’s wedding ’cause it conflicted with regionals prep. Still catching flak for that.
Game Day
Regionals felt like walking into a warzone. Dave’s squad had matching shirts screaming “THE MAN”. My crew? Two buddies holding a paper sign saying “DON’T DIE”. When they called my name for deadlifts, my hands were so sweaty the chalk turned to paste.
Final lift. Needed 20kg more than ever tried. Spotted Dave in the crowd just grinning. Rage-screamed so loud people outside heard it. That bar left bloody fingerprints on my palms – but it went up.
Aftermath
Took me six months to beat Dave by 2.5kg. He bought me beers after and said the creepiest nice thing: “Welcome to the target, kid.” Now new guys stare at me the way I used to stare at him. Still train at 5AM. Still track everything. Still hate mornings. Difference is now I’m the guy making people puke during warmups.
